


Prometheus

by vehlr



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-29
Updated: 2010-05-29
Packaged: 2017-10-09 18:52:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/90453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vehlr/pseuds/vehlr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bound to his home, he returns finally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prometheus

**Author's Note:**

> For my girls. Glorious!

It is five months and sixteen days into Anora's rule that the ship pulls into harbour, and the man with sumptuous golden tresses strides into the town. The people take one look at him and flee, terrified, and he scratches his head and shrugs, making his way to the palace. More people run, and the confusion grows to outright annoyance as he stomps up to the gates, demanding in the name of the Rebel Queen to be let in. Funnily enough, this works.

He is dragged into the court, though it takes two men bigger than him and finding them takes a good half an hour. The woman on the throne takes one look at his face and promptly swoons, and he frowns slightly for a moment before speaking.

"Huh. That happens more often than you'd think."

~*~

The Warden is summoned - because, Anora says breathlessly, if anyone can resolve a crisis it is her. And she arrives with little ceremony, her second-in-command faithfully shadowing her steps. This, of course, is instantly a mistake. As soon as he enters the room, the world draws in a breath as Maric turns to meet his only living son. Well, the only living son that I know about, he thinks, feeling more than a little awkward as the Warden winces slightly at Alistair's muttered expletive.

"Hello, son," he says.

"Oh. It's you. Well, isn't this sodding glorious?" And behind him, somewhere in the Warden's retinue, Oghren sniggers heartily.

~*~

He visits the memorial of the Hero of River Dane, because despite everything he was still Loghain.

~*~

"I don't want the throne back," he says, two days after disembarking. Anora seems relieved, and Eamon crestfallen. Behind them, the Warden nods slight approval.

"May I ask why, Maric?" Eamon is twenty seconds away from wringing his hands, which should not be as entertaining to the former king as it is. Clearly the years with an Orlesian wife had not been kind to his nerves. He shrugs.

"Why upset the system when it seems to be working fine? Anora always had a sensible head on her shoulders, even as a little girl, and it looks like nothing much has changed." He smiles at her and she bows her head in respect. He cannot unsee the pigtails.

~*~

"So where were you, old man? All this time and then you suddenly stroll off a boat..?" The Warden smirks. He cannot help but smile ruefully.

"I went to Weisshaupt. I had a.. a friend up there."

"Weisshaupt? You Theirins and Wardens.. I swear, it's something in the blood."

"I believe the 'having something in your blood' is your area of expertise."

She smiles. "True."

"Anyway. She died. Nothing else there for me."

"I'm sorry. She must have been a good friend." She does not need to say any more, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder. She knows.

~*~

He tries. He really tries.

Alistair wants nothing to do with him at first. That, he supposes, he can understand. He was not exactly a proactive parent in his younger years, not even with the son he kept at hand. But he wants to make up for those mistakes, to know the man who has grown. The Grey Warden knows, her wry smile supportive as she pushes Alistair forward, closing the door behind them.

The silence hangs for half an hour.

"He wanted to make me king." The son speaks, finally, pushing back against the wall and kicking his legs out in front of him. "Eamon, I mean."

"Oh."

"Doesn't that bother you?"

"Should it?" Oh, and that is definitely the wrong thing to say, he realises too late, as Alistair's hollow laugh rings around them.

"So you don't care that I might have been pushed into that life?"

"But you weren't."

"I might have been."

"Yes. But you weren't." He thinks for a moment. "And that's good. Because you're happy, aren't you?"

"Well, yes..."

"There we go then." He smiles, leaning back in his chair. "That's what matters. Happiness."

Alistair regards him for a moment. "How much did you lose, to learn that?"

~*~

The world is changing. Anora is a strong ruler, though her hand is guided twice by Uncle Maric.

"I owe them this much," he whispers, as she signs off land to the Dalish and welcomes Bann Shianni. She does not ask.

~*~

The business with the Architect unnerves him. Once the Warden realises he has information, he is whisked away to Vigil's Keep, and it feels like home.

Velanna reminds him of Rowan at times, and at other moments Fiona, but she is like neither. He does not linger when she is around, instead choosing to drink with the dwarf Oghren and the mage Anders. He often wakes up in Anders's room, head pounding and fully clothed as the son of Howe rolls his eyes at the mess of drunkards.

The days are hectic, and when the Wardens are not out keeping the arling safe or haggling with traders, he is in the main hall with them, reliving every moment underneath the earth, every word of the Architect's discussion, every incident. Alistair is amazed at the recollection of Duncan.

He cannot look at Sigrun. He still remembers Utha.

~*~

It is six weeks before he asks about his mother. Maric says nothing for a moment.

"My heart still hurts," he eventually murmurs, and that is all.

~*~

Within twelve months, he stands in the ruins of Amaranthine, the Warden at his side.

"Thank you for trusting me."

"We lost good people. But.. we could have lost more. I appreciate your wisdom."

"So.." He turns, smiling slightly. "You'll rebuild?"

"Mm. The city will recover, as it always does. The keep will take more time, but we'll get there." She rests a hand on her rounding stomach, smiling for a moment. "What about you? What will you do with your life now, old man?"

He smiles wryly.


End file.
